


The Big Question

by foreverchanges



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Cute?, Eve’s soft, F/F, Let’s all be soft together, Villanelle’s soft, You’re soft?, i think so, i’m soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverchanges/pseuds/foreverchanges
Summary: Villanelle would just like to ask...
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	The Big Question

“Eve, if you had to hole up for a month with me in an igloo or a treehouse, which would it be?”

“What?” Eve’s eyes remained steadfast on the pan of sizzling halloumi before her. Admittedly, it was an odd choice for Sunday dinner but Villanelle had decided to try out veganism whilst, it had to be said, not quite grasping the concept. Eve was happy to indulge the overgrown child to whom she now somehow found herself committed.

“An igloo or a treehouse, Eve?” Villanelle whined, as if it were the most obvious choice in the galaxy.

Villanelle was lounging on the sofa in the open-plan living room of the sweet ( _at least to Eve_ ) little house she shared with Eve, her wife. She was mid-way through a David Attenborough episode and contemplating how cramped environments might impact a couple’s sexy time. She’d have to factor in to her calculations that standard human beings were definitely bigger than penguins, and though she couldn't swear to it, she was almost certain a macaque was no taller than a conventional sized two-year old homo sapien. She had much to ponder.

Even so, Villanelle knew which she’d choose, but in the interests of matrimonial harmony, she felt it proper to seek Eve’s opinion too. She’d bookmark all the ice hotels or wildlife lodges in the world later that night. Depending on Eve’s response. Because she was also learning about respect, and mutual decision making, and how Eve liked to imagine she had a say in where they went on holiday. Her Eve was cute that way.

“Neither.” _Oh_.

Eve drizzled honey into the pan from a height. Rich and unctuous, the amber liquid landed softly on the pillowy cheese strips beneath. A second later, she flipped each fragile slice of halloumi and added a sprinkling of chilli to each newly revealed crisp outer shell. Just as the final flake fell, Eve abruptly turned to ask Villanelle which wine she’d like with dinner. The question would be met with a long-suffering sounding ‘champagne, Eve, champagne’ but she thought if she just kept plugging away, one day, Villanelle might learn to economise, or like, compromise... maybe... one day. Until that day, Eve would valiantly continue to piss in the wind.

“Shit, Jesus, ouch, Christ, Villanelle, what the fuck?”

Villanelle hooted with glee as Eve unexpectedly came nose-to-nose with her whilst simultaneously jumping a foot in the air and smacking her head on the Mauviel saucepan conveniently hung from a hook just above the kitchen counter.

“A bit of warning next time, Villanelle? Jesus, is it so much to ask? God,” Eve gasped, her patience stretched thin.

She glared incredulously at the delighted 27-year old infant who now stood immediately in front of her. Quite when she’d crept up on her was a mystery. But there she was, nevertheless. Her Villanelle.

Her Villanelle, the notorious former international assassin for a global organisation of violent ill-repute. Her Villanelle, the murderer of multitudes of influential people across every continent on the globe, and all with a flamboyant flourish for her biggest fan. Her Villanelle, the multi-lingual polymath, with a black belt in taekwondo and a personal account at London’s Loewe. Her Villanelle, the tall, lean killing machine, who stood in yummy sushi pyjamas with a messy dark blonde bun and a look in her eye so fond, so full of puppy-dog devotion that Eve’s protestations died on the vine.

 _What on earth am I going to do with her?_ Eve wondered, the ghost of a smile playing on her full lips. She raised a palm to Villanelle’s cheek, so smooth and bright, her thumb stroking languidly from left to right.

“Lay the table,” she smiled, “and you might just get away with this.”

“Whatever you say boss,” Villanelle replied diligently. Because Villanelle was nothing if not obedient.

She’d lay the table, then she’d wolf down her dinner. She’d complement Eve on the preparation of this ever so easy to cook meal, and offer to top up her wine. She’d entreat Eve make herself comfortable on the sofa when dinner was done. She’d clear away the plates and make two cups of tea. Once the tea was brewed, honey for Villanelle, lemon for Eve, she’d very cutely meander over to the sofa to join Her Eve. She’d delicately lie down right on top of Eve, and wriggle just so until they were both warm and cosy. She’d coo quietly into Eve’s neck as Eve gently stroked her hair and praised her washing up. She’d whisper sweet nothings and tell Eve how beautiful she looked today and about that time Villanelle knotted a cherry stalk with nought but her tongue. And, then, and only then, would she deign to bloody ask again,

“Eve, if you had to hole up for a month with me in an igloo or a treehouse, which would it be?”


End file.
